Some time ago

The Cherubian and I bought two copies of Bell du jour on the same date and at the same place. Why couldn’t we have shared?? Because we don’t believe in trading books and cds and anything that is close to our respective hearts. Boyfriends are not included in this category.

Anyway in the misguided mirth of turning the Gray Bray into a place where the literati can tread without the fear of being swept away with the trash, she decides to set up an official bookclub. “Start with this one” says I brandishing my shiny black book with one glittering pink stiletto. She casts an eat-you-alive glance my way and proceeds further. Time of the event – 8:00 pm.

1:00 am : In between vascillating, alternating between the left-eye-right-eye thing and naming the different personas I acquire when my insomniac disposition is particularly bleachy, the Kill Bill theme rings aloud. Its Her, I know. She must have reached the second chapter. No, I am niether pragmatic not clarivoyant as you may imagine, just that I have known her too long and regrettably, too well.

“Fisting??” followed by a shriek that threatens partial deafness for me. “How can….I mean…can ..err..you…err”

“Yes, it is possible and it happens and no I can’t”.

“Shut up” she barks, “What I meant was…”

She is shocked by the rather explicit description of the rather uncomfortable act. I ask her to revisit the caption on the front page, carefully- “Diary of a London CALL GIRL”.

“What were you expecting??” I quiz her politely ” Pretty Woman – Part 2?”

My politeness is mistaken for snarkiness. She hisses back ” And you wanted this to be the first book for the official book club?”

“Of course, I can imagine Mr—–( )’s err surprise.”

“He would gun me down.”

“Not before he made box plots of her sexual mis-adventures and decided the trends for maxima and minima and how we could predict top sexual performance for the upcoming quarter”